


A Slight Miscalculation

by sandy_s



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e08 Lovers Walk, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 15:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21284063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandy_s/pseuds/sandy_s
Summary: The Mayor stops Spike before he leaves town in Lovers Walk. He has a proposition for the vampire. Written for the Elysian Fields Big Bads Challenge 2019. This is AU, y'all.The gorgeous banner is by the wonderful stnia!Rated R for cursing...Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns all.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	1. Part One: The Decision to Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part one of four (three and an epilogue)! Thank you to the site mods for having this event. I was super excited to write the Mayor as he's a character I've never written but adore.
> 
> And special thank you to stnia for the gorgeous, perfect banners!

The music blared in the car’s speakers as it sped along the highway out of Sunnydale. Spike was singing at the top of his lungs with renewed enthusiasm, having just found his mojo back after leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. With a plan and hope in his heart, he hardly noticed the roadblock through the haze of his black-smeared windshield. 

The sirens caught his eye a few hundred yards before total annihilation, and he slammed the brakes on so hard that his foot almost went through the floorboards. “Fuuuuuccckkkkk!” 

Spike turned the wheel just slightly in an effort to avoid plowing into the police car and damaging his DeSoto further. He needed to drive back to his dark princess, and she was a lot of miles away if she was still in the same place. His body crashed back against the seat as the tires left skid marks in parallel protest.

He couldn’t open the door because the sun was shining bright and golden all around him. He was trapped like a sodding sardine in a can or maybe a frog in boiling water. All he knew was that sun be damned, he planned on ripping the lungs out of whoever was blocking his path. 

The crackle of static followed by some feedback from a bullhorn resounded followed by, “Mr. Spike, I know you’re in there. I’d just like a moment of your time before you leave our fine city.”

A mixture of curiosity and fury fueled the vampire as he rolled down his window just a crack but not enough to fry himself. “Who the hell are you?” 

The voice was really quite jovial. “Someone who has one hell of an offer for you. Pardon my French. Also, no pun intended since we’re on a hellmouth.”

Spike squinted through the uncovered parts of his windshield but only saw a megaphone sticking out of the window of the police car. “Why should I give a fuck about your offer? I have places to go!” This was just another bloody inconvenience. 

The man chuckled into the speaker. “How would you like to dispatch another Slayer? Or maybe two? If you’re lucky.”

This caught Spike’s attention. There were two Slayers in Sunnydale again? Last he knew, Dru had killed the new Slayer in town – the one who had helped Buffy cripple him. Maybe if he bagged two Slayers, Dru would be so impressed that she’d leave behind whatever demon she was probably shacked up with and take him back again. “I’m listening.” 

“What?” Another click. “I can’t hear you.”

“I’m listening!” Spike shouted.

“Perfect. I knew you’d like the sound of that. How about we move this little conversation to my office in town? It’s awfully hot out here, and I don’t really like how my shirt’s sticking to my back.”

This bloke didn’t know the meaning of heat. “Where’s your office?”

There was a click and short screech like the device was being turned back on. “What did you say?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

There was a sigh. “Oh, I thought you knew. I’m Richard Wilkins the Third. Mayor of this lovely Southern California town.” 

“All right, Trip. I’ll come.” Spike rolled the window back up and turned the car around, following the police car back to Sunnydale.

At city hall, there was a convenient spot in the covered parking that a hand sticking out of the police car window indicated was for Spike. A shady walkway led to a side entrance. The sense of dread in his stomach led Spike to believe he might be walking into the belly of the beast even as he was protected from the sun. He smirked. He’d faced much worse, and he was more than sure he could show this mayor a thing or two if things got out of hand. 

A middle-aged man with a broad smile plastered on his face appeared at the front of Spike’s car, almost making him jump. This Dick reminded Spike of the overly exuberant Willy Wonka from the film that Dru loved. She always thought it was hilariously funny when the one girl blew up like a giant blueberry. The man waved at him as if beckoning a small child into his chocolate factory, and Spike fought the urge to roll his eyes even though this mayor probably couldn’t see through his windshield. 

Hiding his hesitance but not his predatory guardedness, Spike allowed himself to be led into the building, down various hallways, up a set of stairs (for the exercise!), and finally to the reception area of a large office where a startled younger man in a suit stood to attention. 

The new man’s eyes widened at Spike’s appearance, and he wrung his hands, fretfully. “I’m so sorry, sir. The committee was supposed to be on top of things, and I don’t know what happened, but I-I’ll get with Mr. Trick right away and fix this.” He fumbled for the phone on a nearby desk, the receiver tumbling out of his hand. Somehow, he managed to catch it by the cord though the device still clunked on the desk. 

Trip held up a placating hand. “Allan, Allan. No need to be hasty. Mr. Trick was at fault, and he’ll pay his due. And the committee failed, but in doing so, I realized my initial idea about Mr. Spike here was a bit hasty. Hang up the phone.”

Allan somehow managed to deposit the receiver back in its resting place without further issue.

“I need you to do me another favor.”

A pad of post-it notes found its way into Allan’s hand, and he held a pen at the ready. Spike was a little impressed by this. This mayor had power. 

“I need you to fetch Mr. Spike and me some drinks. Not the kind you’re thinking. It’s far too early for the scotch. Just sparkling water for me. Do we have any more of that grapefruit flavor?” The Mayor turned to Spike as Allan realized he’d forgotten to take off the pen cap and removed it with his mouth before scribbling furious notes. “Mr. Spike, what can I get you?”

Spike thought something of the alcoholic persuasion seemed necessary, but it probably wasn’t a good idea to dull his senses. There was something about this place that made his skin crawl, and he wasn’t used to things setting him on edge. He was the one who set others on edge. Well, everyone except Buffy. The Slayer always just seemed irritated with him, and she bloody well irritated him. He shoved her out of his mind. “Blood would be good. A-positive, if you have it.”

The Mayor nodded in approval. “I think we can arrange that.” He patted Spike on the shoulder, and Spike fought the urge to snap his neck and be done with him. “I already like you. Thinking about your nutrition and staying sharp.” Before he entered his office, the Mayor took a moment to nod at Allan. “Thanks, Allan. After you bring the drinks, why don’t you take the afternoon off? You’ve been working far too many hours.” 

For the first time, Spike witnessed the poor bloke stop vibrating for a moment. “Thank you, sir.”

Forty-five excruciatingly long minutes and a mug-and-a-half of A-positive later, Spike sat forward in the leather chair where he’d been lounging and said, “Let me get this straight. You want me to stick around Sunnydale and distract the Slayer, and possibly Slayers, for reasons you can’t go into right now. And you’re willing to pay me whatever my asking price is.”

The Mayor steepled his hands and smiled encouragingly. “That’s all correct. Within reason on the price.” 

Spike considered that he might be able to walk away from this with enough cash to shower Dru in dresses and nummy treats. . . after he tortured her, of course. That’d win her back from whatever simpering demon she had at her beck and call now. He gritted his teeth. He could handle the Slayer and whatever little companion Slayer came along with her. “That sounds reasonable.”

The Mayor grinned and sat forward, holding out his hand. “Perfect.”

As the man’s palm settled against his, Spike felt the sense of dread return. He sure as hell was going to have to be on his toes. 

* * *

_From the journal of Richard Wilkins, III:_

_Aside from the need to find a way to fund a decent golf course, I made some progress on the Slayer situation today. While I initially thought having this Spike character around would be a terrible and inconvenient idea, I think having him batting for the home team, so to speak, is the best idea I’ve had all year. Well, the best idea besides installing hand sanitizers in all the government buildings around town. Have to prevent the spread of sickness, especially during that pesky flu season. _

* * *

Setting foot in the mansion on Crawford brought up more feelings than Spike anticipated. 

It hadn’t been all that long ago that he’d been crippled and in a wheelchair, while Angelus had his way with Dru and almost ended the world. Spike’s heart ached with betrayal at the memory of his dark princess draped all over her sire. He could still hear the sounds of them fucking echoing through the halls. 

Now, Spike was stronger, and Angelus was Angel again though Spike didn’t really see the difference. Angel just moaned and moped a bit more because he couldn’t be with Buffy the way he wanted. 

Spike figured his grandsire would be moping right about now, and Spike could come poke at him all with the purpose of letting the whole gang know he was sticking around to cause trouble for the near future.

But the sound of a roaring fire – the kind Angelus always liked to burn ad nauseam – didn’t greet Spike’s ears, and he didn’t hear the almost imperceptible sound of his grandsire’s Tai Chi motions – the kind that he’d learned to make him seem all sodding Zen and sexy. 

Instead, Spike heard a different sound altogether. He strained to make certain that his brain was correctly interpreting what his ears were picking up.

Someone was crying. 

Spike found her in the garden. 

He was all prepared to rush in and be pompous, but the tilting curve of her shoulders as she sat on the bench stopped him. 

Instead, he found himself asking, “Slayer?” 

He internally berated himself for sounding so bloody gentle, but he couldn’t help himself. A woman in pain always got to him. Maybe it was leftover emotion from seeing his mum cry over the years, or maybe somewhere in the vestiges of his human heart, he felt something akin to empathy. 

“What do you want, Spike?” The Slayer didn’t even bother to turn toward him as she should have if she knew the smart Slayer thing to do. She turned to glance over her shoulder at him, and Spike saw that her eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks were soaked with tears. She hid her face again. “What are you still doing here?”

Spike was struck dumb by the pain he’d glimpsed in the depths of her green eyes, so he stumbled on his words. “Same as you, I reckon. Here to visit Angelus. Where is the grumpy old sod?”

Buffy drew her legs up so that her chin rested in the valley of her knees. “He’s gone.”

“Out for a bite?” Spike knew it probably wasn’t that.

“He’s gone because of what you said.” She didn’t sound angry – just defeated.

Spike took a few steps toward the bench, rounding in front of her, his hands stuffed awkwardly in his duster pockets. “’Bout what?”

“Us not being friends.” Her voice was a little muffled because she buried her face in her knees. 

“Oh.” Spike slid onto the bench next to the Slayer but far enough away that she couldn’t stake him with a flick of a hand and the right plunge of a bit of wood.

Several seconds passed before Buffy spoke again. “You were right. We were just fooling ourselves. We’ll never be friends.”

“So, what? You kicked him to the curb?” Angelus would never leave what he deemed his otherwise.

Her next words were sarcastic. “No. He left because he wanted to make the right choice for both of us.” 

Spike slapped a palm on his thigh. “Of bloody course he did.”

Buffy laid her temple on her knee and blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“The part about me not being surprised?”

She sniffed. “Yeah.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Why are you being so nice?”

She turned her head the other way. “Just answer the question.” She paused. “Please.”

“The long and short of it is that Angelus likes to be in control and take others’ decisions from them. He’s always been that way.” 

The Slayer was silent for so long that Spike thought for sure he’d get a fist in a nose. Then, she quietly said, “You’re right.” She hesitated and then glared at him. “I don’t know why you’re still here, but it’d be in your heart’s best interest if you left.” Spike stared at her, and her eyes blazed at him. “Now.”

Spike was half-amused and half-afraid she’d stake him good and proper, so he bounced up to his feet – all indifferent like. “I’ll go.” He strode toward the door back into the mansion. He spun halfway there and walked backward, poking a finger in her direction. “But mark my words, Slayer, this isn’t over.” He wasn’t sure exactly what wasn’t over, but that didn’t matter. He’d have the last word. Damn it.

“Whatever,” came the Slayer’s muttered reply.

Fury rose up inside of Spike raw and unfettered and hardly tied to that one word, but he didn’t care. Resisting the urge to smash something, anything within reach, he stormed out of the mansion, drove back to his new apartment building without getting into a wreck, and practically pulled the door off his apartment. Slamming the door closed, he picked up the first thing in his path – the unsuspecting coffee table – and threw it against the wall where it made a sizeable dent in the drywall and a mass of splintered wood. Why the Mayor had furnished his crib with objects that could kill him was beyond Spike. Was everyone in this town very stupid? 

Spike paced the small space like a caged and very pissed off tiger. 

What the hell was Spike doing in Sunnydale? Why the hell had he agreed to this idiotic over-the-hill Mayor with his mission? What was Dru doing now? How many bed partners did she have lined up while Spike was lollygagging around small-town California? Why did she even think he was hung up on the sodding Slayer? Obviously, Spike hated the Slayer, annoying, self-righteous bitch that she was. She’d been a thorn in his bloody side ever since he and Dru had come to this godforsaken hellmouth. She certainly wasn’t someone Spike wanted to pal around with for any length of time. 

And so, Spike’s thoughts circled around and around as he paced.

As his anger slowly dissipated, his thoughts coalesced into a semblance of a plan as they often did when he flared hot but then rapidly cooled.

And those thoughts centered on two things: how to find out more about this vague mission that the Mayor had and how to understand the supposed hang up on Buffy Summers, so Spike could prove once and for all the Dru that he was the vamp of her dreams.

* * *

_From the journal of Richard Wilkins, III:_

_My contract with this Spike fellow is already paying dividends. Somehow, he convinced Angel to leave town, using Angel’s love for the girl against him. Pretty clever. It’s in keeping with his jealousy about his partner choosing Angel over him. Allan seems to think I’m crazy that I sent Mr. Trick on his way. (That vampire’s tricks were more ephemeral than solid.) Allan doesn’t say so, but I see the uncertainty in his eyes anytime I speak about Spike. Allan is loyal to a fault, but he doesn’t always see the bigger picture to come. Oh! There’s a knock on the door. Guess it’s time for my weekly massage. Well-deserved this week, I think. I like Melissa; she has excellent hygiene._


	2. Part Two: Crossing a Line

Spike resisted the urge to tap his fingers on the tabletop. He couldn’t look too bored, and he was already lounged back in the boardroom chair – cheap, squeaky piece of shite that it was. And drumming his fingers on the richly polished conference room table would be pushing it too far. At least, no one could see his leg shaking nonstop under the pretentious table’s surface. 

Spike had patience for a lot of things but boring meetings were not on that list. They reminded him too much of sitting through lectures in school and his life before becoming a vampire – something he tried hard not to think about. 

He glanced at the clock with its loud, clicking second hand. God, he just wanted to rip the damned thing off the wall and smash it on the ground. And how had it only been twenty-one minutes? He rolled his eyes. This was all indicative of just how useless he felt. The Mayor didn’t want him to do anything with the Slayers until the time was right. Well, Spike was not a waiting around kind of bloke. 

“Mr. Spike, do you have something pertinent to add to this discussion?” The Mayor looked down his nose at Spike, his red laser beam deviating from its path on the projection screen. 

Spike had no idea what the Mayor was going on about, so he fumbled, “Erm, no. Nothing at all.”

“Then, stop being so disdainful, sit up, and be polite. Other people are taking this seriously.” 

Ignoring Allan and the Mayor’s office manager, who were frozen and trying to hide their trembling, Spike stared at the Mayor, now wanting to launch across the table and punch his face in. Maybe rip out his tongue. That would be infinitely more satisfying than breaking the clock. 

Several seconds ticked by in their faceoff. 

Finally, Spike remembered what he was doing this for, and he pushed himself up, his boots reluctantly scraping across the floor. He didn’t move his eyes from the Mayor’s.

The Mayor blinked first. “Good, good. Now, where were we?” 

Allan, brave sod that he was, spoke up. “You were talking about the after-Christmas and New Year’s push for Slayer distractions since the First Evil and vengeance demon agendas didn’t pan out.”

Spike had had the unenviable job of letting the First Evil know that Angelus had moved on, and in doing so, Spike had fought so many of those creepy monks with the sewn up eyes and mouths that he was having nightmares of being overrun by them. Luckily, the First Evil had skedaddled in frustration, but Spike had needed a few weeks to recover. The Mayor had sent a team to care for Spike’s every need, which was both creepy as fuck and a relief because he couldn’t even get out of bed for a mug of blood. The Mayor wouldn’t allow Spike to eat people in his apartment because he didn’t want to lose the deposit if Spike got blood on the carpet. 

“Ah, yes, yes. Thank you, Allan.” The Mayor removed one overhead transparency sheet and replaced it with a list of two names next to bullet points: the Hansel and Gretel demon and Zachary Kralik. 

Spike’s interest piqued, and he leaned forward. “Kralik? Why the hell’s he on the list?”

“Very good question, Mr. Spike. And as I’ve said before, I’d kindly appreciate your watching your language. There is no cursing in the workplace here as you probably remember from the workplace harassment training.” The Mayor was smiling, which made Spike uncomfortable. He very much appreciated someone being direct, but the faux friendliness grated his nerves, and as Spike was coming to learn, the Mayor was a bit passive-aggressive.

“So, why’s he on the list?” Spike modified, more interested in this tidbit than butting heads. All he knew was that the Mayor had his hands in all kinds of deals – some straightforward and upfront, some shady and behind-the-scenes. Spike was pretty sure there was more behind-the-scenes that he didn’t know, but he’d been biding his time for the last few months, fulfilling obligations and waiting. 

“I have been working closely with some contacts overseas, and they’re paying our dear little town a visit. Kralik is coming with them.” The Mayor looked pleased with himself.

“Kralik is insane,” Spike blurted, his words dripping with sarcasm.

The Mayor crossed his arms, bringing his hand to his chin thoughtfully. “Not unlike your paramour, am I right?”

Spike scoffed. “Dru’s nothing like that sociopath. Her insanity is much different. Not all individuals with mental health issues are a danger to society like Kralik.” Not that Dru wasn’t dangerous in her own way. 

The Mayor lifted his eyebrows. “You know him?” 

“Know him? Angelus turned him while he was in the insane asylum.”

The Mayor was obviously trying to put the pieces together. “Oh. So, he’s like your brother?”

“Uncle.” 

“Huh. So, um, how come he wasn’t a member of your little quartet?”

Spike shrugged. “Angelus learned early on that Kralik was uncontrollable, and he was a sadist. He was a serial killer before he was ever turned. Liked to torture women. His own mum abused him. She castrated him. Literally.”

Allan and the woman were staring at Spike with bulging eyes and hanging jaws, and Spike smirked.

The Mayor shuddered. “Poor fella.”

“You don’t want him here. He’ll create a bigger mess for your town than you ever bargained for.”

“You don’t know what I’ve bargained for,” the Mayor snapped. Then, he switched gears on a dime. “I don’t believe we’ll have to worry about him that much. The Council assures me that they have him well under control. He has to take this medicine, you see, and without it, he’s a bumbling mess.”

Spike perked up at this, but this time, he carefully hid his reaction. “Council?”

“Yes, the Council of Watchers. You must have heard of them. They come from your country of origin, and they help train the Slayer. Though I have no idea why there are so many of them and only one of the Slayer and why their headquarters is so far away from here. Makes me think they’re a wee bit afraid of their charge. Don’t you agree, Allan?”

“S-sure, sir.” Allan clearly had no idea what the Mayor was talking about.

Spike thought the Mayor was probably right. They had reason to be afraid of Buffy Summers. She was a helluva Slayer. A Slayer he was going to kill. “Why is the Council coming here then? And with Kralik?”

“To rid themselves of the Slayer, of course.” There was a pregnant pause, and then, the Mayor dissolved into laughter. Allan and the woman tittered nervously with him. “Just kidding. I have no idea. I think it’s some sort of test for a Slayer of a certain age. I didn’t pay attention to the particulars. I just know that Kralik will provide a nice distraction for her.” The Mayor swung his laser pointer back at the projector. “Let’s talk fairytale demons.”

Spike wondered why all the distraction was needed, and he didn’t know if the Mayor was actually too far off from the Council’s ultimate motive. Spike wasn’t sure, but maybe there was something to the Council wanting to control the Slayer. . . the same way Angelus liked to control his progeny. All Spike knew was that he wanted to find out more about this test because if anyone was going to kill the Slayer, it was going to be him and not his unwanted uncle.

* * *

_From the journal of Richard Wilkins, III:_

_I learned some interesting information about William the Bloody today. He and Kralik are related. Angelus sure is a piece of work, turning a serial killer. But then, vampires are serial killers, and Angelus is known for his artistry in death, which is kind of like a serial killer. I’m not sure how I feel the Council of Watchers coming here, but if they’re bringing a creature that could possibly kill the Slayer or both of them, I’m all for it no matter what kind of deal I’ve made with Spike. If Buffy Summers dies, Spike will still have Faith Lehane. Anything that will bring me that much closer to a peaceable ascension is an A+ in my book. Speaking of my ultimate goal, I need to get that Box of Gavrok ordered before it’s too late for shipping. Literally. _

* * *

Unbeknownst to the Mayor, Spike had done a little research on his own about why the Council and Kralik were coming to town. Turned out, they were planning to weaken the Slayer, and then on her eighteenth birthday, they’d set a trap with a vampire that she’d have to figure a way to outsmart or die trying. 

Spike had no idea what exactly that was supposed to be a test of. In his mind, the only way to kill a Slayer and have it mean anything was if she was at her full strength.

Turned out that Spike had the night of Buffy’s birthday off, maybe because the Mayor was satisfied that the Slayer would be occupied. So, just after dark, Spike set out to find Buffy and warn her of this potential trap. 

The Mayor was really too trustworthy. He left everything out in the open, including his calendar of events and his cabinet full of heads and skulls. It was to Spike’s benefit, so he knew that this test. . . this Cruciamentum was going to take place at the Sunnydale Arms, the roach-infested, abandoned boarding house on Prescott. 

He went there first. 

A rental car was parked outside, looking oddly shiny and new compared to the dilapidated structure. Spike mused that the Mayor would positively despise this place with its filth, peeling paint, and pungent odor that emanated from every orifice of the building. 

The closest door opened with ease, and Spike immediately heard a man moaning. The sound was low and echoed its way toward him. 

Spike rushed down a dim hallway toward the source of the sound and found himself face to face with a hungry fledge with a gaping wound in his belly. There was so much blood all over the man’s tweed suit that Spike couldn’t tell where the actual injury was located. 

The vamp’s eyes were filled with misery, and he coughed, dark blood spilling over his lips. “P-please. Help.”

Spike thought fast. “Sorry, mate. I don’t have time to deal with you right now. So, you get the short end of the stick.” He grabbed a scrap of splintered wood from the floor and jammed it in the vampire’s chest. 

The fledgling exploded into dust, and Spike could have sworn the Watcher mouthed a soundless thank you. 

Tossing aside the bit of wood, Spike scanned the room, taking in the broken chains and the large pill bottle. He palmed the medicine and read the label: Haloperidol. These were Kralik’s anti-psychotic meds. He’d be needing these. Spike slid them into his duster pocket and sniffed at Kralik’s prison. Beyond the metallic scent of blood, Spike detected Kralik’s signature stench. There was something off about the way he smelled. . . something that Spike’s instincts told him he should run away from. 

Still, Spike persisted in tailing the serial killer vamp. Spike knew that the Mayor wouldn’t be happy with Kralik on the loose in his town, but that wasn’t what drove Spike to rush.

What drove him to move and quickly was the fact that Kralik was headed in the direction of Buffy’s house. 

Not that Spike cared about the Slayer’s wellbeing. He didn’t. Not at all.

But he did care about Joyce. What if Kralik showed up on the Slayer’s doorstep? Joyce might open the door and invite the killer inside. Spike couldn’t let anything happen to her, not when she had supplied Spike with hot cocoa and gentle but direct relationship advice when he’d needed it most.

The front door to the house on Revello Drive was wide open when Spike reached it. He didn’t hesitate and rushed into the house. There were signs of a struggle at the entrance. The coatrack was on its side, jackets and scarves strewn everywhere, and the door was tilted inward, halfway off the hinges. Polaroid pictures were fanned out in a rainbow of black-and-white squares. The set up was one that Kralik had adopted from Angelus. The photos depicted a terrified Joyce, and in one that Spike picked up, Kralik’s fingernails were digging into her neck, a drop of blood sliding down.

Renewed rage flared up white and hot in Spike’s chest and head, and he spun to come face-to-face with the Slayer. 

She hovered on the front porch, just on the other side of the threshold. Dark circles carved their way deep under her dulled green eyes, her blonde hair was in a sloppy ponytail, and she hugged her arms like she might fall over at any second. 

Still, her voice was hard as steel. “Spike. What are you doing in my house? And in this town? I thought you left. Again.” 

“I’ve been here. In grand ole Sunnyhell.” Spike was well and truly caught. “Your mum’s in trouble.”

“What’d you do to her?” 

“I didn’t do anything, pet. I swear.”

“Bullshit.” Buffy snatched the Polaroid from his hand. Spike immediately noted the lack of force behind the movement. He’d been holding the picture loosely. “Oh my god. Who’s this?”

“Kralik. It’s a long story, but I’ll give you the short version.”

“I’m listening.” Something in Buffy’s eyes looked more frightened than angry.

“No interrupting?”

“No interrupting. Go!”

“The Mayor is working with the Council. The Council is putting you under some test on your 18th birthday – ”

Buffy took a step back from Spike with a shocked look on her face. “Wait. What? That’s why I lost my powers?” 

Spike didn’t bother pointing out that she’d literally just said she wouldn’t interrupt. “Yeah. And the test consists of fighting a vampire without your powers. Only problem is, they picked Kralik to be your test vamp.”

Buffy glanced at the photo of her mother – the one with the blood. “And that’s bad for some other reason than he obviously kidnapped my mom as part of the test?”

“Because I know. . . of him, and it’s bad.”

“Worse than you?”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes for some reason he couldn’t elucidate. “Ha bloody ha, Slayer. And yes. In his own way. He’s a serial killer with mummy issues.”

“Like every other vampire on the planet.”

“No, not like,” Spike insisted. “He was a serial killer before he was turned. There’s a difference.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What part are you leaving out?” Strong Buffy would have had him already pinned against the wall. It was another change Spike noticed.

Spike growled. “Look. The longer you ask questions, the longer your mum is in Kralik’s clutches.”

“Okay.” Buffy squatted and rummaged through the big pile of jackets and scarves on the floor, pulling out a stake, a flashlight, and a bottle of holy water. When she gazed up at Spike, she seemed so vulnerable and small. Buffy was always big even though she was petite. She filled the room when she was around Spike. This was new, and Spike felt. . . drawn to her in a different way than before. “You helping?”

Spike made a split-second decision, shoving aside any vague concerns about whether this decision would put him in a worse situation later. He liked Joyce, sod it. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Great. Thanks.” She felt around and produced another stake. 

Spike caught the wood with ease. “I can track him, and odds are, he’s going back to the Sunnydale Arms. He’s a creature of habit.”

“That’s where Giles wanted me to go tonight,” she said softly as if just realizing something. She shook her head and stood, her mouth a grim line. “Let’s go.”

They ran then. Spike kept pace with Buffy, who was running far slower than a Slayer ever ran unless she was injured. He didn’t comment on it though. He assumed that if a Slayer passed this test, she would somehow get her powers back, and then, she’d be ready to kick his ass again.

The way back to the Arms was quick now that Spike knew exactly where to go, and when they slowed, he said, “You should know something about Kralik before we go in.”

Buffy leaned forward with her hands on her thighs. “What?”

“He’s psychotic, and I have his prescription.” Spike produced the bottle and shook it so that the pills clattered against one another. 

Buffy stared at the container and then took it from him. “Oh. What happens if he doesn’t have them?” 

A loud roar of pain poured out from the depths of the building.

Spike tilted his head in the direction of the cry of anguish. “That.”

“That’s not good.” Before Spike could say anything else, Buffy darted inside with her stake at the ready.

Spike didn’t even have time to roll his eyes. He followed the Slayer inside. 

The cries of pain continued, and they used the sound to trace Kralik’s location. As they drew further into the belly of the very dark Arms, using only Buffy’s flashlight as their guide through the hallways, the wails went silent. The Slayer abruptly stopped, and Spike plowed right into her, catching her slim body in his arms. She stepped out of his embrace quickly, and Spike was left feeling confused by the way his body was reacting to hers. 

She edged forward more slowly, and then, the quiet was pierced by a scream. Joyce’s scream.

Spike scrambled after the Slayer, discovering dim lightbulbs lined the next hallway, illuminating the way to a room – the room where Joyce ceased screaming.

Buffy shoved the mostly-closed door open, shouting, “Mom!” 

Hot on Buffy’s heels, Spike saw Kralik with his head buried in Joyce’s neck. Her body was dragged upward and limp, and Spike snarled, “Kralik! Drop the lady!”

Kralik’s head lifted at Spike’s voice and not Buffy’s. “Spike,” he spat through blood-covered lips, a few droplets flying through the air. “What are you doing here?”

The Slayer was incredulous. “You know him know him?”

“Not the point, now, Slayer,” Spike said, not taking his eyes off Kralik. 

“Let go of my mom!” Buffy demanded.

Kralik ignored Buffy. “She’s weak. Kill the Slayer. Break her neck.”

Spike focused on Joyce. “No. Let go of the lady.”

Kralik studied Spike’s face. “I have a thing for mothers. You do, too, from what I remember. Angelus told me all about it before we parted ways. Is that why you want me to let the Slayer’s mother go?”

“That’s none of your business!” Spike snapped, suddenly afraid to look at Buffy. 

Luckily, Kralik threw his head back and roared with pain. He let one hand slip off of Joyce as he held his head. 

“You looking for this?” Buffy asked when Kralik’s wave of pain passed. Spike heard the rattle of the pills against plastic. 

Kralik sneered. “Give me that.”

“You’ll have to catch me first,” Buffy taunted, making Spike wonder what the hell she was up to. 

Kralik threw aside Joyce’s body, lunging at Buffy, who took off out of the room. Kralik gave chase, and Spike let them go, rushing to Joyce’s side. 

He lifted her gently up, propping her against the wall. She groaned as Spike checked her neck. The size and depth of the tear in her flesh indicated that Kralik hadn’t gone for the kill or Joyce would have been dead in seconds. He’d been trying to draw it out for some reason. Spike could think of many reasons, none of which mattered because Joyce was rousing.

She blinked up at him. “S-spike?” She must have remembered Kralik because she sat up with more gusto, pushing herself up to her feet where she swayed until Spike steadied her with a hand under her arm. “Where’s that vampire?”

Spike hesitated but admitted, “Going after your daughter.”

“Let’s go!” Joyce declared, trying to run but stumbling as a wave of dizziness from blood loss came over her. She gave Spike a desperate glance. “You go! I’ll be okay.”

“Right.” 

Spike dashed after Buffy, following the bellows of Kralik and weaving up and down hallways. 

Spike reached a dead end in the maze, glimpsing Buffy in the bright narrow beam from the flashlight. She was backed into a dark corner; only a strip of her pale cheek and glint of a green eye was visible.

“Give them to me!” Kralik thundered with complete rage and helplessness in his voice.

“O-okay,” Buffy said, not noticing Spike as he silently slid his hand in his duster and pulled out the stake she’d given him earlier. 

Kralik snatched the bottle of pills from Buffy’s shaking outstretched hand. He swirled off the medication cap and tossed a few in his mouth.

“Water?” Buffy asked as Spike snuck up on the distracted Kralik.

“What?” Kralik eyed the liquid that Buffy was offering, not bothering to examine the label. “Yes. Thank you.” 

As Kralik took a large swig of the holy water, Spike drove the stake through Kralik’s back so that he burst into dust. 

Buffy let out a small cry of mingled fear and relief and then slid to the ground sobbing, losing herself in the shadows. 

Spike squatted before her, shoving his duster back. He paused but then reached out and stroked the warm tears from her cheeks. “It’s over, pet. The test is over.”

Buffy launched herself into his arms, and he held her tight as her whole body shook with the weight of her emotions. 

Spike stroked her back and realized that she thought the worst. “Buffy. Slayer. Your mum’s okay.”

“W-what?” Buffy said, her voice sounding young, so young. 

“She’s alive. She’s gonna be okay. You should probably get her to a hospital to suss out whether she needs anything.” 

Buffy pushed away from him then. She wiped her tears away with both hands. She straightened her shoulders, and when she spoke, the wall between them was back. “Okay. I got it from here.” She hunted around for her flashlight and picked it up, aiming it at him. Spike blinked a little in the brightness, and Buffy continued, “Thank you. For your help.” 

Spike noted that she didn’t bring up the Angelus thing. . . the thing from last year, but Spike couldn’t help but be reminded that this time last year, she’d also gone through something big. “You’re welcome, pet. Sorry about this birthday, too.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he pivoted and left her there, unsure what to make of what had just happened.

* * *

_From the journal of Richard Wilkins, III:_

_That Spike. Oh boy. That’s all I have to say about that. He will find out soon that I don’t mess around. He surprised me with his attachment to the Slayer’s mother, but he’s not the only one who can cross a line. I don’t miscalculate twice. He’ll be sure to the toe the line after this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't remember what anti-psychotic meds Kralik was on, so I put him on one that I know is super strong. I also don't really get the connection between the meds and pain and dependency. It doesn't make any sense from working in the field, but I kept it the way it was for continuity with the show and attribute mis-information about anti-psychotic medication side effects to something with vampire physiology. lol Just know that anti-psychotic meds are not habit-forming.


	3. Part Three: The Final Misstep

Pain was the first sensation that asserted itself as Spike roused. The pain was followed by a fogginess that settled over his brain, seemingly to force his consciousness back down into dreams. But Spike was defiant and pushy as always, and a moan of protest escaped his lips. 

“He’s awake,” a female voice said, the sound a little husky. Spike tried to place the tone and speech pattern, but two words didn’t give him much to go on. 

There was the scrape of a metal chair against tile (the tile in his apartment?), and someone loomed over Spike. He wished he could open his eyes, but they felt like someone had settled weights over his lids. A machine beeped, and there was the click of a small lever. Shortly after, something cool was entering his arm, and it took a moment for Spike to place the feeling as some sort of IV fluid. 

Spike tried to move despite the piercing pain in his skull. 

“Hold on there, tiger,” the female warned, an undercurrent of threat threading through her words. 

This only made Spike fight harder to wake up. 

“Will whatever’s in this pouch keep him down?” she asked the other person present.

A male spoke, his voice deep and low. “That’s not my problem. We’ve done as requested and given you a neutered vampire. And now, I have to report back to the professor. We’ve got a lot to do to set up shop. Besides, aren’t you a Slayer? You can handle him from what I’ve heard.”

Spike’s brain stuck on the word “neutered.” What the hell did that mean? If they castrated him, why was his head hurting and not. . . Spike couldn’t let himself go there. The land of nod was sounding more and more appealing.

“Fine, I’ll handle him my way.” 

A fist contacted Spike’s jaw, hard and strong, and he bit his tongue, which sent jagged pain through his head. 

“Hey! Be careful of his head. He may be a vampire, but he needs time to heal after a surgery like that, and we don’t know how the hardware could malfunction if you’re not careful.” 

“He’ll be fine.” The Slayer sounded full of arrogant pride. 

This time, Spike sensed her fist coming even though he couldn’t open his eyes to see it, and as his jaw exploded in agony again, he slipped back into blessed unconsciousness. 

The pain was much less when he woke a second time, and his eyes easily slit open. The dimly lit room he was in had the same layout as his apartment, but it wasn’t his. This one was awash in more feminine décor – throw pillows, cozy chairs, and gossamer curtains in pinks of all shades. There was a dresser with perfume bottles of different sizes on top, and a very fuzzy-looking rug lined the tile floor, reminding Spike of a white one Dru used to fancy. She liked splashing droplets of blood from their victims across the fibers in a macabre kind of splatter-painting. 

Spike’s arm was still hooked up to an IV, and he was tucked under the covers as if someone had actually cared about his comfort. His hand immediately went to his crotch, and relief swept over him. He was still intact, so he wasn’t neutered that way. Testing himself, he sat up a bit on his unencumbered arm, and when the world didn’t swirl around him, he managed to push himself up to a sitting position, leaning against the headboard. 

Just then, a slender young woman appeared in the doorway to the room. Her hair was as dark as Dru’s, her skin as pale, and she was clothed all in black. Her scarlet lips stretched into a smirk, and she sauntered into the room with her arms crossed. 

“You’re up, tiger. How ya feelin’?” 

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Spike was pleased he didn’t sound as weak as he felt.

The girl plopped down at the end of the bed as if she had no reason to be afraid, and Spike realized from the power emanating from her that she was the other Slayer. “I’m Faith. What’s the last thing you remember?” 

Spike’s brow furrowed as he thought back. Last thing he remembered was leaving the Sunnydale Arms after helping Buffy and Joyce. He’d been headed back to his apartment when his entire body had been zapped by some godforsaken electric ray-gun. Whoever had shocked him had done it from behind – coward. “Being knocked unconscious.”

“I’m impressed you remember that.”

Spike frowned, uncomfortable with how much she seemed to know and wasn’t saying. “What do you mean?”

“It was a lot of voltage.” She leaned back on her palms, and Spike felt anger boiling up.

Then, something dawned on him, something he should have known as soon as he saw this apartment and heard the familiar chair over tile. “You’re working for the Mayor.”

Faith grinned. “Gosh. No one’s gonna put you in the slow group.”

Spike needed information if he was going to get out of this prison without being in a dustpan. “But why? Aren’t you the do-gooder sort?”

Her face crinkled briefly and so subtly that only a vampire would notice. He’d struck a nerve – a nerve she was usually good at hiding behind bravado. It was something he recognized well because he did it himself. “Reasons.”

He softened his tone. “There’s always a very good reason or two for people to work for the mayor of a city on a hellmouth.” 

Faith turned it around on him. “Why are you working for him?”

Spike decided to choose honesty. It would get her to lower her guard. “One reason and one reason only. I have a lady to impress.”

“Oh.” Faith seemed disappointed. She sighed. “It’s always about Buffy.”

Wait. What? This other dark Slayer had it all wrong. “Not Buffy. Drusilla. Why the bloody hell would I want to impress Buffy and why would I work for the Mayor to do it?”

“Everyone does. She’s the center of the universe around here.” Faith drew her knees up, almost protectively. “Little Miss Perfect. And duh, you’re probably undercover!”

Spike snorted and then grimaced in pain. “Buffy’s not perfect. She’s a right annoying thorn in my side.” Something stopped him from really going on about her flaws, but he wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was the way she’d looked at him when she was terrified to lose her mum. “And I’m bloody well not undercover!

The corner of Faith’s mouth lifted. “I feel ya on the thorn part.”

“What’d she do to you?” Spike infused the question with gentleness.

Faith bit her lip uncertainly, but then, something hardened in her eyes. “I killed someone. And Buffy and the Watchers couldn’t handle it. Stupid Council sent a team to get me, but the Mayor stepped in. He’s been really great. Buffy and Co. don’t like him either.” 

Alarm bells went off in the back of Spike’s mind. “Who’d you kill?”

Faith ran her hand through her hair. “Some guy named Allan. He was deputy mayor, I think. That’s the thing. It was an accident. Buffy and I were out slaying, and I hit a guy in the heart before I realized he was human. But there was no forgiveness. And Buffy didn’t take any of the blame when we were out together! She and Giles and my new Watcher set up a trap for me. It didn’t work.”

Spike felt a twinge of sadness that it was Allan she’d snuffed. Spike had gotten rather fond of the anxious bloke over the last few months. Spike tried to put the other pieces of what Faith was saying together. There was no way Buffy went from being powerless to out slaying with her rule-bending twin. “What day is it?” 

Faith looked confused. “What? Oh, yeah. You’ve been out of it for a while. There was a lot of swelling. Or that’s what the doc said.”

“Ballpark on the date.”

“May. It’s May.” 

What the hell? That was it, he needed out of this strange apartment that didn’t seem to fit the occupant, but there was one more bit of information he needed. While surreptitiously gearing up to move, he asked, “What’d they do to my skull? And why are you watching over me?” 

Faith’s eyes moved from his, and she stiffened uncomfortably. “Well, looking after you is my first job. And look. All I know is that they put something in your brain to prevent you from hurting humans.” 

Oh, holy fuck. This was not good. Not good at all. “Oh, well then.” His words were falsely casual, and he knew it. It was now or never.

Summoning all his energy, he let out a roar, allowing his face to transform and his fangs to descend, ripping the IV out of his arm, and leaping out of the bed. 

Faith matched his fighting stance. “Whoa. Fuck, dude. Hold on there.” 

“What’d he do to me?” Spike demanded. His head throbbed in protest.

Faith shrugged. “You betrayed him. You helped Buffy. He was just drawing a line.”

Dread filled Spike’s chest. The dread was rapidly replaced by rage. “By doing something to my brain? He doesn’t know who he’s messing with. And neither do you.” 

Spike flew at Faith, connecting his fist to her jaw with every ounce of his energy. As soon as he made contact, his vision went white as pain more excruciating than he’d ever felt lanced through every nerve in his head. He screamed and stumbled to the side, grabbing defenselessly at his skull in an attempt to prevent it from exploding. He held onto the edge of her dresser, riding the wave of pain until he could see and then think again. 

He glanced over at Faith, who was making low moaning sounds on the ground. He must have gotten in a lucky hit. She was a Slayer; she’d be up soon.

He spun the other way and staggered toward the door, managing to just barely open it. The hallway was familiar. It was indeed the apartment complex where he’d been staying. He ran toward the parking lot and spotted his DeSoto like a shining beacon of hope waiting for him. The door handle never felt so good under his hand, and he fell inside, tugging down the visor and snatching the keys before they tumbled to the floorboards. He jammed the keys into the ignition and was never more grateful that he always kept it full of gas. 

The tires screeched as he pulled out of the parking spot, and when he put it in gear and hit the accelerator, he felt and heard a loud thump on the trunk. He pushed the pedal harder and careened away, leaving the Slayer with her howl of frustration. 

* * *

_From the journal of Richard Wilkins, III:_

_Faith just called. Spike escaped, and she said he’s at the other Slayer’s house. Of course, I forgave Faith. She needs forgiveness after a lifetime of little to no compassion from others. She asked me what she should do about Spike, and I told her to leave him be for now. _

_So, it seems I’ve traded Spike for a much better bet. Faith’s a good girl. She’s more pliable; she’ll do as I ask. I thought the Initiative was the key to controlling Spike, but that turned out to be a little blunder. At least, he’s stuck with that pain-inducing chip in his brain. He won’t be able to hurt humans anymore, and that’ll kill his spirit. A creature like that is nothing without the ability to satisfy his bloodlust. Serves him right. I imagine his kind will kill him or he’ll leave town for help from his lover. Irritating problem solved. Now, I can focus all my efforts on ensuring my ascension goes smoothly. _

_But first, my Faith needs cheering up. I’m going to cook her dinner. It’s been a minute since I cooked for someone special. Edna May always liked my lasagna, so I must stop by the store on the way home for my favorite ricotta. _

* * *

“Spike, you look terrible.”

Running a hand through his longer, unstyled, and likely unbleached curls, Spike gave Joyce a rueful smile from the shadows of the front porch. “I know. I need your help.”

Spike stared at Joyce’s neck as she tied her robe closed. The open wound on her neck was healed, leaving behind a raised pink scar. She stepped back, letting him inside the house. “Come in.”

“I have a request first.” 

“Anything.”

“Can I park the DeSoto in your garage?” Spike needed his car out of sight. He didn’t know if the Mayor already knew he was at the Summers residence, but Spike thought it couldn’t hurt to not announce his presence. 

Joyce studied his face but didn’t question him. “Of course. Hold on. Let me go open the door.” 

Spike hurriedly ran out to pull his car next to Joyce’s. Relief spread over him when the garage door safely closed, and he was back inside the house with Joyce. 

“Sit,” Joyce commanded, pointing at a stool at the breakfast bar. “Do you need blood?”

“What?” His stomach growled. How long had it been since he had food in his system?

She shrugged. “I’ve been keeping some for you in case you came back. I wanted to thank you for helping my daughter and me. You saved our lives.”

An unexpectedly warm glow filled Spike’s heart as he slid onto the stool and set a tote bag on the counter. “Oh.” 

“And I felt bad for only offering hot chocolate last time.” Joyce retrieved a mug from the cabinet and went to the refrigerator. “It’s not human though.” 

“That’s fine.” If any other person offered him anything than human, he’d slit their throat but not Joyce. And at this point, beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

“I think it’s pig,” she continued as she pulled out a plastic container. “I got it at the butcher’s.” 

“I’ve had it before.” He’d had it at a time Joyce should never know anything about. 

Joyce poured some into the cup; it smelled fresh. Spike wondered if she’d been replacing it every few days for the past months. Joyce slid the mug in the microwave for heating. Neither of them said a word as the machine hummed, and shortly, the smell of warm blood permeated the kitchen. Spike was starving, and he had never smelled something so good in his life.

When Joyce set the mug in front of him, he tried not to gulp it down in front of her. Instead, he sipped at the liquid and almost immediately felt better somehow. It was swill, but god, it was the best damn swill he’d ever had. 

Joyce took the stool next to him. “Now, tell me what happened. And what’s in the bag?”

Spike swallowed. “Something important. I’d better wait for your daughter to explain.”

“She should be home soon,” Joyce said and then pressed her lips together. “Does it have something to do with Faith?”

“And the Mayor.” 

Joyce frowned and gave a little shake of her head. “He’s not a nice man. He puts on a good show, but he doesn’t follow through on the important issues. I’m waiting for the election. Maybe people will vote him out.”

Spike took another drink of the blood. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. “If things go the way I think, he won’t be around for the next election. Not in the way you think he will.”

“That’s ominous.”

Crap. He might as well tell the truth. “The Mayor plans to take power trip in a whole different direction and soon.”

“Soon as in before Buffy’s graduation?” Joyce’s heart rate was picking up. 

“I’m not exactly sure.” He had some copies of things that he’d taken from the Mayor’s office, and while he understood enough to know the information was valuable, there were some things he hadn’t been able to make sense out of.

“Is she going to be in danger again?” Joyce had her priorities straight. Her daughter was number one.

“Probably.”

“Oh god.”

The back door opened, and Spike froze as Buffy walked in, but she didn’t even balk at Spike’s presence. That was new. “Oh god, what?” 

“Spike has information,” Joyce offered. 

Buffy tossed a stake and a blade next to Spike’s duffel and addressed him. “What are you doing here?” She wavered and added, “You look terrible.”

Spike arched a brow at her. “So I’ve heard.”

“Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since – ” 

“Your birthday.” Spike took another swig of the blood. God, he needed it. “I was out of commission. It’s a long story.”

Buffy crossed her arms, and though there were sparks in her eyes, she was noticeably softer toward him. “Tell it.”

Spike glanced at Joyce, uncertain how much she should hear. 

Buffy noticed, of course. “She can stay.” Then, she addressed her mother. “As long as you promise not to freak out.”

Joyce straightened up and marked a solemn cross over her heart with her finger. “I promise.”

Spike shared the whole story – well, most of it. He left out the parts that would get him punched, mostly because he didn’t know if his head could handle another blow right now. In his rush to escape, he hadn’t really had time to process what had just happened with the other Slayer, but he shared that part, too, including the bits about the blinding pain in his skull that came with hitting her. 

Spike also left out the bits about wanting to kill Buffy. He told himself that he was just protecting Joyce, but he knew that wasn’t quite it. Before, he’d gloried in announcing his plans to rip her limb from limb, but his mind couldn’t go there. God, he was falling apart. Becoming a Nancy boy.

Midway through telling Joyce and Buffy about the papers he’d been swiping from the Mayor’s office on his “ascension,” something occurred to Spike. 

Dru was right. His dark princess in her nutty, insightful, creative, empathic, psychic way had seen right through him and known. 

Soon, he finished his tale and miracles of miracles, no one had hit him. As Buffy and Joyce glanced through the information from Spike’s bag, he stood, hiding his shakiness, and went to the fridge for more blood. 

“So, Spike,” Joyce said as he watched the mug circle round and round in the microwave, “you’re staying here tonight.” She wasn’t asking.

Buffy didn’t even protest. Instead, she offered, “There’s a place to sleep in the basement that’s safe from the sunlight.”

Spike blinked at her. Did he want to stay in the Slayer’s house? He tucked away his pride. It was probably the only way he’d make it out of Sunnydale with his heart whole. “Thanks, pet.” 

“We’ll talk with Giles in the morning.” She paused and clarified, “About all the information you brought about the Mayor.”

Would he stay long enough for that? He knew the answer even as he asked himself the question. “Alright.” 

And that was that.

Before Spike knew it, Joyce was hanging his duster on the overflowing coatrack. Then, he was showered, in some fresh clothes that sort of fit him, and in the basement with sheets, a pillow, and a blanket. As he made up the cot, Buffy slipped downstairs with her arms full of another cot and more bedding. She unfolded the twin cot next to his – well, three feet away.

“What’re you doing?” he asked nonchalantly.

“You think I’m gonna let you stay in the house with my mother and not guard you like a hawk?” At another time, Buffy’s would have been biting and cold, But now? She just sounded tired. 

“That only makes sense.” Spike slid a pillowcase over his pillow.

Buffy fluffed her pillow. “Yep.”

When they both finished artfully arranging the covers, Buffy padded across the room to flip off the light. Spike noticed that she was wearing her pajamas, which were covered in tiny pictures of what looked like sushi. That was not what he expected a Slayer to wear to bed. She was. . . beautiful.

Buffy used her flashlight to make her way back over. “What’s that smirk about?”

Spike bit his lip and couldn’t help but smile at her – a genuine smile. “Nothing.” He decided he’d better get under the covers before he got himself into trouble. 

When they were both settled, Buffy clicked off the flashlight, and almost as if this gesture gave her courage, she asked, “Why are you helping? I mean, I’m grateful. Don’t get me wrong. But you’ve always been out to kill me. What changed in the last few months?” 

Leave it to the Slayer to lay it all out upfront. Spike wasn’t feeling defensive, so that allowed him to think about his response, which had never been the case with Buffy and rarely anyone else since he became a vampire. “The truth?”

Buffy shifted, and Spike heard her heart pick up speed. “That would be nice.” 

“I got offered a deal to work for the Mayor.” 

“You told me.”

Spike took a deep breath. “But it wasn’t for what I said before.”

“Not because you gave up on Dru?” Buffy scoffed. “Saw right through that bullshit reason when you gave it earlier.”

Maybe it was the teasing note in her words or the darkness engulfing them or both that made it easier for him to say, “You didn’t call me on it. Why?”

Buffy was quiet and then said softly, “I didn’t want to. Didn’t seem pertinent when you were laying out all his nefarious plans.”

Spike’s next words came in a rush. “I came back here because he offered to let me kill you, pet.” 

“I knew it!” Why did she sound more amused than angry?

“But something changed as I got to know the Mayor and his plans. When I found out about the Council’s test and Joyce almost got killed.” 

Spike caught a whiff of a tear rolling down Buffy’s cheek. “That was awful.”

“The test was an abomination.” 

“Yeah. Giles felt terrible for his part in it.” 

“His part?” Something dawned on Spike, and he took a guess. “He was the one making you weak.”

Buffy breathed out. “Yeah. He’s been very apologetic, and he’s all fired now so. . .”

“Fired by the Council of Wankers? Good for him.” Spike felt a modicum of respect for the Watcher. Systems needed to be bucked.

Buffy let out a small laugh before tucking it away. She was quiet for several seconds, but Spike could tell she wasn’t falling asleep because her breathing wasn’t slowing. “What happened with Faith frightens me.”

“Which part?”

“I was going along with her, breaking into shops and getting way too invested in the slaying. It’s not a game, having this much power, a-and I should have known better.” 

Spike turned on his side on the wobbly cot, propping his head up even though he couldn’t see her. “Now look here. Beating yourself doesn’t do a thing other than keep you stuck in the misery. You pushed the limit. Sometimes you have to do that to figure out where you stand on things and where your boundaries are. Plenty of people are handed a boatload of power and aren’t careful with it. They don’t respect it. Sounds to me like you do.” 

“How do you always know the right thing to say even though you’re a vampire?” 

“Hey, I’m still half-human over here,” Spike found himself protesting.

“I know,” she admitted and breezed onward. “Losing that power for the test. . . it was scary. I never felt so scared in my life. Not just when I thought I’d lose my mom, but. . . I’ve had my powers for so long, I don’t know what it would be like to be me without them. Well, I guess I sorta do now.” She took a deep breath. “And I wonder how you feel about it. . . how you feel about whatever it is that the Mayor did to your brain.” 

Spike was completely taken aback by her admission and her thoughts about his feelings. The back of his head was sore, and though he’d felt around on his scalp for signs of surgery or anything unusual, he hadn’t found anything except a bit of tenderness. Stupid vampire healing. “I don’t rightly know what they did to me or how to feel about it. But yeah, helpless sounds about right.” 

“You said that when you punched Faith, you had a lot of pain?”

“Yeah.” Godawful pain so bad it had felt like his skull might crack open like an eggshell. 

“So. . . hit me.” 

His mouth dropped open. “What?!” 

“To test it and make sure it’s true.” She huffed. “Hurry up before I change my mind.”

“I dunno, pet. You’ve got me by the short hairs. If I hit you, what’s to stop you from staking me on the spot?” 

“I won’t. I promise. And do you see any wood around here?”

“Hmm. Could be a stake up your sleeve.”

“Maybe I do. Force of habit.” The sheets rustled as Buffy sat up. “Pinky swear I won’t hurt you.”

Spike matched her motion so that they sat knee to knee. He sensed how close she was, and it was almost surreal. He almost wanted to pinch himself to see if he was dreaming. “Give me your pinky if you mean it.”

“I hope you mean not literally give me your pinky. As in tear it off or something.”

“Good god, Slayer! I’m not always thinking violent thoughts.”

“Okay. It’s out there.” She paused. “My pinky.”

Spike’s finger grazed the edge of Buffy’s soft pajama sleeve as he reached over in the darkness, and after a moment of fumbling, he found her warm fingers, which accidentally half-laced with his before his pinky looped around hers. She squeezed gently, and Spike realized that she was holding her breath. They held half a second too long, and then, he let her go, already missing the different kind of touch between them. If he had a beating heart, it would be racing. 

“I’m ready,” Buffy said.

“Okay.”

Time ticked by, and then, Buffy spoke. “Spike?”

He was trying to decide where to hit her. She was here, vulnerable before him, and he couldn’t bring himself to deck her in the face. God, what was wrong with him?

Before he could talk himself out of it, he lashed out, punching her hard in the arm. Lightning pain shot through his head, and he screamed, falling forward off the cot so that it tumbled with a crash to the ground even as his knees hit the concrete. As the tidal wave of pain thrummed through him, he heard Buffy’s voice through the haze, and when the pain began to slowly fade, he felt her touching him, stroking his back the way he’d stroked hers when she thought her mum was dead. 

“I’m here. Tell me when you can speak,” she said gently, repeating the message until he could make sense out of it. 

When at last he felt capable of speaking, he said hoarsely, “Guess I can’t hit anyone anymore.” He slowly eased up to a sitting position. Oh god, he was pathetic. This was awful. It was true. He was going to starve if he didn’t hit up blood banks.

Buffy flicked on the flashlight and surveyed his face. “We’re going to figure this out. How to fix it.” 

He gave her a half-smile. “We?” 

The door to the basement opened, sending yellow light cascading around the room, and Joyce called down, “Buffy? Spike? You okay down there? I heard a crash and screaming.”

“We’re fine, Mom!” Buffy replied. “Spike just fell off the cot. He hit his head.”

“Oh, okay,” Joyce said. “Anything I can do?”

“No, thank you, Joyce!” Spike answered.

“Get some rest. Both of you. If you need me, I’ll be upstairs.” Then, Joyce closed the door again, and the kitchen light went off.

Spike and Buffy used the low light of the flashlight to set up both cots again. This time, when Spike climbed onto his, Buffy scooted her cot so close that her sheets were touching his. As she snuggled under the covers, she whispered, “They won’t fall over as easily this way.”

Spike didn’t say anything as he gathered his thoughts. Then, he said, “I’m helping because I still like the world the way it is. Like I said before.”

“With Acathla and Angelus,” she said so low he almost didn’t hear her. Did she sound disappointed? She definitely didn’t seem surprised.

“And the Mayor? His purpose for gaining power is to destroy. It’s unclear how much of the world he wants to destroy, but more than I’m comfortable with.”

“Hmmm. And he thought you just wanted to kill me to get Dru back.”

“Yeah.” 

“He miscalculated your motives.” Buffy’s words were thoughtful, and Spike caught a hint of amusement.

“I’m more complicated than that, pet.”

“I know.” She yawned. “Good night.”

Spike closed his eyes. Dru was right. He was bloody well hung up on the Slayer and not in the killing her sort of way. He didn’t know what it meant, but for now, he was content to sleep on it. 

* * * 

_From the journal of Richard Wilkins, III:_

_I was right! Faith loved my lasagna. With the ice cream for dessert, it would seem that both of us are in a food coma. It’s the perfect time for some television. Faith was very excited about my movie collection. I’m letting her choose the film we watch. I am a bit worried about what Faith will do after the ascension, but I’m going to do my darnedest to protect her._


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from Graduation Day, Part 2 by Joss Whedon in this part.

_From the journal of Richard Wilkins, III:_

_Today is the day! Everything is falling into place. I’ve been planning this for a hundred years; it better be falling into place. I feel good. Focused._

_The only thing that has me distracted is what happened to Faith. I can’t believe she let herself be lured in by Spike and that Buffy Summers into confessing on tape about the horrible accident with Allan. Then again, maybe jail is a safer place for her to be right now until I go through my transformation. I’m tempted to take my anger out on Principal Snyder for siding with the police this time. He could have convinced them to simply lose the evidence like they so often do around here, but he didn’t._

_Anyway, enough about that. I have a speech to finalize. Most of my notecards are done. I just want to add one more piece about the importance of goal-setting, hard work, and perseverance. Maybe I’ll even throw in parts about cleanliness being next to godliness and the value of catching more flies with honey than with vinegar. Then, I’m heading to the library to take one more jab at Buffy and her ragtag gang of misfits. I kind of want them to try to kill me. Imagining the looks on their faces when they see that I’m invincible makes me all giddy._

* * *

“Run!” Buffy tugged on Spike’s elbow as the giant snake demon that had been the Mayor dipped an angry head toward them. 

Spike didn’t have to be told twice. He raced after the Slayer as she rabbited off into the empty high school hallway. All the doors were propped open as planned, so he easily kept up with her, not looking back at their pursuant. The only hint that he had that the Mayor-demon was still on their tail was the sound of metal, plaster, glass, and wood twisting and breaking and smashing behind them. 

They rounded their way to the library, which was brightly lit, so they could find their way to the beckoning open window. Before the giant snake managed the turn, Buffy dove out of that window with Spike right behind her. 

Spike hit the ground and rolled into a tight ball, landing near where Buffy landed. She’d edged past him, and he threw himself in her and the waiting Watcher’s direction, determined to make it far enough away before the inevitable destruction. 

In the distance, Mayor’s familiar voice echoed louder and deeper than the human version, and Spike thought he made out, “Well, gosh.” 

Buffy was breathing hard and nodded at the Watcher - Rupert, who hit the plunger to detonate the bombs, which were heavily planted throughout the library and school. 

Explosions were especially painful for vampires, and Spike smashed his hands over his ears and hunkered down. Despite his efforts, his hearing blanked out for an indeterminate amount of time. Slowly, his hearing returned, starting with ringing and then faint noises. Things were louder in reality. Also on the ground, the Watcher and Buffy were checking on one another, and then, surprisingly, she turned to Spike, setting a hand on his arm – her cheeks streaked with soot and her hair askew. 

“You okay?” Her voice was teeny and far away. 

“Yeah, pet. You?” He glanced over her. She was intact, and though she was a mess, her eyes were shining in triumph. 

“I’m good.” The corner of her mouth quirked up as she stooped to pick up the fancy blade that the Mayor had given Faith – the blade Buffy had taunted him with. “I think we got him.”

He found himself smiling in return. “We did at that.” He mused that the Slayer had twice used explosives to rid the world of supposedly indestructible beings. Slayers didn’t typically use weapons like that, but he admired that Buffy did. 

“I’d hate to see the state of my library,” the Watcher said almost sadly.

The trio stood shakily as if being unable to hear properly meant they couldn’t physically move. Sound was coming in clearer for Spike, and he heard people crying in the distance from the direction of the graduation battle. Another way this Slayer was different: she’d recruited the masses to fight with her. Something tugged in his heart. She was bloody brilliant. 

“I’m worried about the others.” Buffy’s expression had changed – the victory short-lived. 

“Let’s go,” Rupert said. 

Buffy started jogging lightly back the way they’d come. Spike found himself keeping pace with her again. It seemed he was always with her lately. He’d been part of the planning to defeat the Mayor, reluctantly joining Scooby meetings at Giles’s apartment in the evenings. Rupert, Xander, Red, and the cheerleader had been reluctant to include him at first, but the wolf had been oddly okay about it. 

A night or two, Oz had even sought Spike out to discuss what it was like for him to go through the changes when he became a vampire – how it had changed his identity and his unlife, how it had affected his relationships. Spike hadn’t really reflected on all of that – not in decades, so the conversation had been interesting, full of talk about humanity and monsters and relationship commitment. 

Spike was far from considering himself a white hat, but there was something about Buffy that had him doing things he never thought he’d do in a hundred years. He found himself going along with her. He still slept in her basement, and though she hadn’t shown up to guard against him after the first night, she also hadn’t kicked him out of the house. Her Watcher had even said it was a bloody good idea having Spike close since he was in the know about the Mayor and was vulnerable. Even when Spike discovered he could hit demons, Joyce insisted he wasn’t going anywhere. She felt safer with him in the house. If anyone else told Spike they felt safe around him, he’d rip their lungs out, but Joyce? She could call him a kitten, and he wouldn’t sodding care. 

A pale redhead barreled out of the crowd ahead and flew into Buffy’s arms, embracing her tightly. “Buffy! You’re okay! You did it; the Mayor’s a giant dead snake!”

Buffy held her friend with less gusto but probably only to prevent breaking her. “I did.” She glanced over at Spike and gave him a half-smile. “We did it.” 

Willow turned her attention to Spike, hesitated, and then gave him an equally exuberant hug. Spike patted her back awkwardly. 

The rest of the Slayer’s little friends meandered up to them as the redhead shared her relief in the form of another hug with Rupert.

Xander and the wolf arrived first with the cheerleader limping behind them. She gave up halfway to the group and peeled off her heels, tossing them aside in disgust. Sirens started wailing in the distance, surprisingly late to the party. 

“Finally,” Cordelia said with disdain, running her hand through her tangled dark hair. “You’d think they’d be right here given how tiny this town is.” 

“I imagine they have their hands full with Faith,” Oz observed, looking surprisingly unruffled. Practically the only thing off about him was a dark smudge on his cheek and a scratch across his chest. 

“Good point,” Willow said. She bounced back toward Oz to check on his wound and caress his cheek. Spike marveled at how she had owned her cheating and the impact she’d had on the wolf and how he’d forgiven her. It was something Dru never did, and Spike considered that maybe he deserved something different. 

“Thank god we’re all okay.” Like the redhead, Xander hugged everyone. Hee tried with Cordelia, but she balked before he even got close to her. He’d also tried with Spike with similar results.

“Thank god this is over and done with. Remind me never to wear Jimmy Choos to a fight again. They’re worthless now.” Cordelia sighed. “My last pair.”

Xander smiled fondly at her. “At least you’ll never have a battle to fight. Still moving to L.A., right?”

Cordelia returned the smile. “With a suitcase and a prayer. As fast as I can buy a bus ticket.”

“On that note, shall we head back to provide our statements to the authorities?” Giles urged, trying to herd them along by passing them up. 

Buffy crossed her arms, but the slump in her shoulders told Spike she was exhausted. “Fine, but after that, no more talking. My brain is fried. I’m sleeping in tomorrow. Like I normally would be doing after graduating high school.”

“Buffy has a point,” Oz said as the group started walking. “We earned it. Graduating, defeating evil. We should all take a breath.”

“Except Spike,” Xander joked. When he caught Spike’s glare, he added, “Pretty bad, huh?”

“Very bad,” Spike confirmed, dragging his feet a little. He really had no idea what the hell he should do with himself about now. Head his own way? Go find Dru? Or join the Slayer’s little posse in providing statements? That would probably take all night, and he wasn’t sure he could put up with that for long. 

Cordelia bent to pick up her broken shoes. She examined the half torn off heel, waggling it back and forth. “Maybe I can get them repaired.” She paused. “After I move and get a job and find a place to live.”

“Maybe buy some groceries?” Willow suggested, skipping ahead a little with Oz in tow. 

“Important things like that,” Buffy said with irony. 

Cordelia abruptly shifted the topic. “Did I tell you guys that I staked a vampire?”

“Yes, Cordy,” Xander said placatingly even though she hadn’t told Spike and Buffy yet, “but tell it again.”

Buffy peered over her shoulder at Spike and slowed down to wait for him. She gazed up at him with something he couldn’t label in her green eyes. She was back to filling up the world again even though she was obviously worn out. Spike couldn’t look away. “You’re coming, right?” 

With her simple question, Spike realized he really was at a crossroads – a crossroads he had a feeling would change his life for good, a crossroads he couldn’t go back to once he made a choice. God, never in a million years would he have ever thought that he’d be here with an invitation of acceptance from the Slayer. From Buffy. Maybe the Mayor wasn’t the only one who’d miscalculated things. It felt right being with her. Still, there was that nagging fear that he would be rejected, so he found himself asking, “You sure, pet? I can just go now that all’s done. Check out of ole Sunnyhell for good.” 

Buffy frowned at him – a small frown. Then, she hooked her arm around his as they followed the group, which was the first time she’d touched him since the night in her house when they’d slept next to one another. He didn’t want her to let go. “Why is that even a question? Of course, I’m sure.” She stopped in word and action. “Do you want to go? Because we haven’t figured out your head thing. And ‘cause Mom would be majorly bummed. . . . I would be, too.” She started to unloop her arm from his. 

Spike tucked her arm back in place, making his decision. “No. I want to stay here. With you.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. For once in his life, he was at a loss for words. 

She hugged his arm and let out a small breath of relief. “Good.” 

With that one word and gesture, Spike knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Mayor was meant to blunder in his trust of Spike. 

Spike was meant to be here with Buffy. 

The end.  
10-28-19, 12:06 AM

Beautiful banner by stnia:  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading this little Spuffy tale! Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Special thank you to stnia again for the fabulous banners and kind support! It was such a pleasure and honor working with you creatively on this story.


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